


Salvage

by craigslist_ouija_board



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Violence, Sort Of, damar is emotionally repressed, dayoun if you squint, weyoun is a damsel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-13 10:35:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28901988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/craigslist_ouija_board/pseuds/craigslist_ouija_board
Summary: Damar has a change of heart and undertakes a solo rescue mission
Comments: 6
Kudos: 14





	Salvage

**Author's Note:**

> No beta, we die like men

Damar sprang from the runabout and sprinted across the charred grass of Rondac III toward the smoldering, broken façade of the cloning facility. Thick grey plumes of smoke rose sluggishly from the stark grey ruins towering before him. Damar picked his way through the maze of rubble up to a large craggy fissure in the side of the stone building and ducked through it into the hazy darkness.

A blanket of stagnant, faintly chemical-smelling smoke smothered out the weak light from outside. Damar stifled a cough. The interior of the facility was just as oppressively silent as the surface of the planet, but he drew his disruptor and held a flashlight aloft in the other hand. The cold shaft of artificial light penetrated a meager few meters of debris-choked atmosphere in front of him, revealing a narrow corridor and rows of glinting steel doors. Most were half melted, bent and ajar. To Damar’s right the corridor ended sharply in a ceiling-high pile of broken stone, so he headed left.

Every door he passed proved impenetrable-- pitch black, belching smoke, blocked with rubble and debris. Damar’s resolve began to weaken. His first foolish decision was coming to Rondac III alone, leaving him without the ability to transport out at the first sign of danger. He had rationalized that he couldn’t possibly waste any extra resources on an ill-planned rescue mission while the freedom of Cardassia balanced on a knife’s edge. Yet here he was, leader of the rebellion, risking his neck for Weyoun, of all people.

The idea of encountering a changeling in the burnt out husk of the cloning facility was only slightly less appealing than trying to explain to Garak and Major Kira why he’d gone to such pains to salvage Weyoun as a prisoner of war after personally giving orders to obliterate his entire line. He wished he hadn’t been so quick to give the order—his impulsivity had now cost him a great deal of inconvenience at best, and mortal danger at worst.

It was all Weyoun 6’s fault. His ‘defectiveness’ proved he was capable of empathy and morality in spite of the Founders’ forceful influence. And Damar hated to admit it even to himself, but the strained adversarial camaraderie he and Weyoun had slowly built up over so many kanar-fueled days and nights of plotting and strategizing for the Dominion made him unreasonably sentimental.

Before the occupation of DS9, Weyoun would bombard Damar with enthusiastic queries about Cardassian culture, slowly warming up to more personal questions about Damar himself. Weyoun knew the names of all of his immediate family, his favorite literature, how he took his red leaf tea… perhaps the Vorta was simply being a good diplomat, but Damar couldn’t give that much credit to anyone else he’d ever worked under.

It certainly didn’t help that Weyoun’s inclinations toward bickering and antagonism could easily be mistaken for flirtation in Cardassian culture. Damar was sure the little jackal was well aware. Outside the contexts of war, Weyoun had been a… unique companion. Beneath the polished mask of haughtiness, condescension, and nauseating adulation of the Founders, Weyoun was sharp-witted, insightful, acerbically humorous, and endearingly inquisitive.

On a few occasions Damar caught Weyoun poring happily over texts on Benzite anthropology and Talaxian mythology in brief intervals between assignments, until one day the female Founder caught him ‘neglecting his duties’ and summoned the wide-eyed, ashen Vorta away from the control room. Weyoun was absent for three whole days and then just as suddenly returned to his post acting as if he’d never left— but he was haggard, noticeably paler, and more callous than ever.

Maybe Weyoun was expendable to the Founders, but not to Damar. He had just been a little slow to realize it. Even if it was a lost cause and he walked away from Rondac III empty-handed, he could at least rest a little easier knowing he’d attempted to make amends. 

The faint electric hum of a generator drifted from the last open door in the hallway. The atmosphere thinned into a gentler haze. Damar approached cautiously, following a weak, flickering series of overhead lights down another alcove that opened into a cavernous room the size of two Keldon class warship hangars. The dark forms of eight-foot tall glass pillars stretched down the length of the room in neat rows. Many of them were smashed open. Their jagged, uneven silhouettes like broken teeth were reflected in inky pools of liquid around their bases.

Blue light from the far side of the room emanated from a complicated series of tubes that snaked up the left side of the wall, disappearing into the dark void of the ceiling. A few frayed wires intermittently showered sparks onto the gleaming wet floor. Another brighter blue light shone faintly from somewhere toward the back of the room. Damar strode as silently as possible through the pillars toward the source, treading carefully around shards of broken glass and puddles of stasis chamber liquid.

His flashlight glanced off the cylindrical glass surfaces of the pillars— cloning tanks—and he caught brief glimpses of a hand, an unnaturally slumped torso, the elegant point of an ear, all suspended motionless in their dark coffins. Wombs turned to graves, he mused.

Morbid curiosity got the best of him and he pointed the flashlight directly into a broken vessel. A dead clone lay naked in a shallow pool at the bottom of the chamber, slender frame slumped with his head resting on his knees. His face was turned away, but from the gentle curve of the jawline Damar suspected it was a Weyoun. An angular shard of glass protruded from his side, and deep purple blood colored the water amethyst. Damar’s heart dropped into his diaphragm. He had seen more than his share of bodies in this awful war, enemy and fellow Cardassian alike. It always shook him to his core and he turned away quickly, pressing forward toward the light at the end of the room.

Damar finally reached the glowing chamber at the end of the room and cried out in relief. The last Weyoun, alive and intact. The Vorta’s slight, lean form floated motionless in the chamber, ghostly pale. It almost appeared as if the light from the tank was emanating directly from his body. He looked strangely ethereal and serene—face tilted upward, eyes closed and lips parted slightly. His arms rested gracefully at his sides, palms turned outward as if in supplication.

Damar found a keypad on the side of the tank and set to work. Thankfully the controls were intuitive enough—at least they seemed to be. With minimal fumbling he initiated the awakening and extraction sequence. A tube that snaked into the back of Weyoun’s neck pulsed once and then detatched itself, and Weyoun’s suspended body arched once and violet eyes flew open. The liquid in the chamber drained quickly. Weyoun staggered and fell against the glass casing, his small frame hitching violently with the effort of quick, labored breaths. A knot of anxiety tightened in Damar’s chest. Was this supposed to happen? The hatch unlocked with a hydraulic sigh and Damar wrenched open the glass door of the chamber.

“Weyoun,” Damar pulled the Vorta gingerly out of the tank. Weyoun leaned heavily against him, unnervingly bright eyes slowly focusing on Damar’s concerned face.

“Wh-what are you doing here?”

Damar ignored his question. “Are you alright?” It seemed foolish to ask; the smaller man was trembling and his features were furrowed in pain. 

“Birth is always painful, even for clones,” Weyoun flashed a tight smile. His voice was low and gravelly from disuse. “But… something feels wrong. We’re not supposed to be awake at this stage—I don’t have my termination implant. What happened? The facility—“ Weyoun squinted out at the dark ruins around them.

“The rest of the cloning facility has been destroyed," Damar replied brusquely. "You’re a prisoner of the Federation now. I’m taking you back to Deep Space 9; you’ll be in Commander Sisko’s custody.” Thankful he had planned ahead, Damar procured a large tunic of his own and handed it to Weyoun, who slid it over his head gratefully.

“I suppose it’s better than remaining here—thank you, Damar. I don’t fully understand why you’re here, but thank you.” He looked up at Damar with disarming sincerity.

“We need to get moving, can you walk?” As if on cue, Weyoun’s legs buckled under him and Damar scooped him up in a bridal carry. Weyoun let out a small huff of indignation but relaxed in the Cardassian’s arms. Damar rushed back in the direction he had arrived, feeling exceptionally vulnerable without his disruptor in hand. But soon they were back in the dim corridor, close to the exit.

An ominous crumbling overhead caught Damar’s attention and he picked up his pace, unconsciously curling in around Weyoun to shield him from the debris that began to rain down. “Damar,” Weyoun breathed and reflexively placed a hand on the Cardassian’s chest.

A deep thunderous crack resounded overhead and the charred walls began to cave in. Weyoun cried out and his body tensed in Damar’s arms. In a dizzying flash, a brilliant light erupted from the Vorta and enveloped them. Damar watched dumbfounded as large masses of stone and infrastructure bounced harmlessly off the glowing force field around them, revealing the somber grey sky of Rondac III above them. The force field crackled away and Damar laughed heartily in spite of himself.

“Where did you learn to do that?” Weyoun gazed up at Damar, just as surprised, then his eyes rolled back and he went limp.

“Weyoun,” Damar shook him gently, “come on, stay with me.” Weyoun groaned affirmatively and Damar breathed out in relief. For now, they were safe. He raced toward the runabout as fast as he could, cradling the Vorta tightly against his chest.


End file.
